Basil Baxter (no login) van IP adres 87.210.200.198
Dear friend,
Basil Baxter Loves You.
As you may have noticed; Hyves kicked Basil Baxter off. Not OK. Well of course Basil Baxter is not ok. He is sick. Demented. Insane. He prowls the streets at night wearing nothing but sunglasses, wielding nothing but Polly, his trusty, rusty, chainsaw. Occasionally he is seen dragging corpses through the gutter or dancing on graves when it rains.
Anyway, with the help of some loyal followers, Basil Baxter is now back with a blog of his own.
Basil Baxter kills people. He likes it. Even when he is playing computer games, he is just doing it for the killing. He likes Grand Theft Auto, especially killing the yuppies. They go Hey dont I know you and then you whack them with the golf club. Whack, whack, whack. Yes, you know me; Im the one who killed your baby sister last week. Remember how I put her head on the bedpost? That was FUN. Sometimes he drives his Hummer down to the playground and chases screaming kiddies. Last week he spotted Jeremy Clarkson. He drove after him but the bastard jumped into a moderately priced car with the Stig behind the wheel, and they got away. But this does not bother Basil overly much, he knows who the Stig is and later this week hes paying a visit. He has this plan involving some 24 rims, a tire iron and exhaust fumes. Almost the same way he did in Xhibit, incidentally. Of course, he might just forget about it, so many victims, so little time. Really he is just waiting for that new big pandemic that Discovery Channel has been promising us. When it is finally there he will open a nice bottle of Chateau Latour and party, party, party. Meanwhile, if you happen to be close to Manchester, dont drink the water. Really, he means it.
Remember: Asbestos is good roughage, Chernobyl is the next tourist hot spot, drugs are fun. Basil Baxter Loves You.
Usama Bin Laden
Third cave from the right
Arid desert no-one bothered to name
Pakistan.
Basil Baxter HQ, 01-06-2006
FROM THE DESK OF BASIL BAXTER
RE: Your request for an alliance with Basil Baxter.
Dear Usama,
Thank you for your interest in joining Basil Baxter on his drive to purge the world of all that possesses life. Your kind letter has brightened Basil Baxters day. Basil Baxter Loves You. Unfortunately Basil Baxter almost never, if ever at all, accepts kind offers such as yours. Basil Baxter seeks and selects Basil Baxters own allies based on arcane criteria only Basil Baxter himself knows. This instance is not an exception, Basil Baxter is sorry to inform you. Basil Baxter wishes you all the best in your search for suitable allies, Basil Baxter understands your following has been dwindling of late.
Regarding your request for armaments, Basil Baxter would like to comment that yes, indeed, Basil Baxter outbid you with the Ukrainians. Basil Baxter sees no injustice done and resents your implication that Basil Baxter now owes you, or your cause. However, seeing as how the SS-20 missile you requested was airborne at the time of reading your missive, en-route to the Ninja headquarters, Basil Baxter has decided to let Basil Baxters better nature prevail in this matter. In the spirit of camaraderie and honest competition, Basil Baxter has decided to grant you the loan of the SS-20 missile, and its three 150 KT warheads. Its course has been altered to reflect the GPS coordinates you so kindly provided.
Given the inevitable discrepancy between the speed of an SS-20, Mod2, missile and the Royal Mail, you now should have taken possession of the missile. Basil Baxter hopes you find good use for it and regrets that Basil Baxter was unable to disarm the warheads prior to sending. Basil Baxter advises Iodine tablets and a brisk shower to ward off immediate and long-term effects.
Pastafarianism appears to be yet another monotheistic religion. It is therefore silly to start with, but the silliness does not end there. Pastafarians worship a One True Friend they dub the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
To quote their church website: The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, while having existed in secrecy for hundreds of years, only recently came into the mainstream when this letter was published in May 2005. With millions, if not thousands, of devout worshippers, the Church of the FSM is widely considered a legitimate religion, even by its opponents - mostly fundamentalist Christians, who have accepted that our God has larger balls than theirs....
Basil Baxter swallowed a mouthful and looked up at the young man dangling from his ceiling. Sorry to keep you waiting cant talk with my mouth full, that would be rude.
The man writhed and wriggled in the ropes around his body. He hung about fifteen feet up in the air, above a machine that looked well worn yet perfectly serviceable. It looked like something from a fifties horror-movie, essentially a square box with a huge bowl protruding from the top. The man was dangling right above it.
Basil Baxter chased a wayward meatball around his plate. The man looked down upon the scene in shock and horror.
You know, you must explain to me how this works. What do pirates and pasta have in common?
He finally caught the meatball and put it in his mouth. Basil Baxter chewed deliberately and slowly while his captive audience watched on in disgust. After swallowing, Basil Baxter raised his fork and continued on. I mean; pasta, ok. I know it as itriyah, thats Aramaic, by the way, but I can see how the improvements made by the Italians are worthwhile. But I must confess I like pizza better, if there are no anchovies on it. I hate anchovies, dont you?
Basil Baxter didnt wait for an answer which would be futile anyway as the man was bound and gagged expertly. ...
Summer is waiting in the wings and temperatures start to rise. To quote: Riot season is here again. Polly cant wait. The Dutch will be celebrating their famous Queens day again. Basil Baxter is busy baking his famous Sarin-and-raisins orange cupcakes. Soon enough Cinco de Mayo will be here too, when the Mexicans celebrate killing many French fops. Basil Baxter is seriously considering attending, sinking ships is one of his favourite pastimes. But! On with the show, what has been happening of late?
Want to keep this missive for posterity? No need; Its available archived:
Are you a True Friend? Do you love Basil Baxter? Then share this newsletter with your friends. After all, friendship wants to spread like Ebola.
Also: spread the word! And the word is, of course, murder. Tell, coerce, beg and blackmail your friends into joining the site (http://www.basilbaxter.com/wp-login.php?action=register) and one of them will receive a T-shirt from the Basil Baxter collection. Winners will be decided by rolling dice. Members who comment (meaningfully) on the site ill receive higher scores to win.
Basil Baxter goes into the spamming business
With a sigh Basil Baxter closed Pine and ended his Telnet session. He left the computer running, as it was still doing some ballistics calculations which might yet take it the rest of the night. The really heavy calculations were being done on one of Basil Baxters SUN Sparc Enterprise servers but he liked having some numbers crunched up close and personal, as it were. Still, he mused, soon it would be time for another trip round to the old disused gun platform, or Maunsell fort, out in British channel where he kept most of his hardware. The poor old machines were simply getting bogged down.
Basil Baxter looked out the window. It was a depressing day. The sun was out and many, many, as yet unkilled children were playing safely and out of harms way under the watchful eye of parents with nothing better to do than procreate and talk about their offspring.
For the briefest moment Basil Baxter considered the merits of firing the old RPG-7D he had lying around into the playground. It was loaded, at the moment, with an OG-7V fragmentation antipersonnel grenade that would scatter the kiddies (and their limbs, brains, toys) quite nicely. But really, Basil Baxter couldnt see the point.
From the archives: Basil Baxter does the gnome dance
All through the forest, not a creature stirred. It was, in fact, deadly quiet. Basil Baxter liked it that way, thats why hed stolen the crop-duster and had dusted the forest with Sarin. Basil checked his backpack. All was in order. For this job, he had decided, it would be fun to use the Heckler & Koch MP5K. It sat snugly on top of twenty clips filled to the rim with thirty 9mm rounds, each. Basil hates loading clips, and he much prefers to use his trusty, rusty, chainsaw, Polly. This time, though, he was going after small, moving, targets. He could use explosives, poison or bacterial agents, but he did not want to. This was not just a bit of fun, nor was this part of Basils ongoing mission to eliminate all living beings from the face of the planet. (And above, and below.) This time it was personal. Each single round had been kissed for good luck.
Wherever people congregate in large groups, wherever people do not wash after going to the toilet, wherever unsafe sex is practiced, wherever people cough into other people's faces... Basil Baxter is there. Anonymous, naked, wearing nothing but dark sunglases, wielding nothing but Polly...
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